


Free

by Stealth_Noodle



Category: Final Fantasy I
Genre: Bittersweet, Comment Fic, F/F, Final Fantasy Kiss Battle, Mid-Canon, Rescue, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stealth_Noodle/pseuds/Stealth_Noodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara has never envied anyone in her life more than she envies the woman who sets her free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free

Sara has never envied anyone in her life more than she envies the woman who sets her free. Wild hair, a dashing hat, weapons, _trousers_ —she has everything Sara has been forbidden, down to the muscles hinting at a life of more strenuous activities than supervised strolls in the garden. The woman's gloves are rough, but her grip is gentle as she helps Sara to her feet.

"Are you all right?" she asks. Her face is handsome and spattered with Garland's blood.

Feeling is still pricking its way back into Sara's hands and feet now that the ropes are gone. She feels the same prickling in places that never went numb, and blood rushes warm into her cheeks. Staring at the woman's face makes her want to do something reckless and half-mad: confess that some part of her was thrilled by her abduction, beg to be spirited away on an adventure, cling and never let go.

Instead she takes a deep breath, nods, and thanks the woman and her companions for their aid. Sara is very good by now at not doing what she wants.

* * *

The woman's name is Dee, which must be short for something, though it might be rude to ask what. She prefers to fight with swords and ice spells—fire and lightning tend to get out of hand in enclosed spaces—but she always saves a bit of energy for healing. She grew up in the south and speaks passable Elvish. She also likes to indulge inquisitive princesses, which is how Sara learns all this before the rest of the group goes nosing around the shrine for treasure.

Dee stays behind with Sara to heal the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Garland wasn't gentle, even when he could have been; after years of guarding Sara, he should have known that she would have sneaked willingly out of the castle with him. He was so different in the end, cruel and raving. His blood is still on Dee's face.

Without her gloves, Dee's hands are still rough, still gentle. She brushes cool, soothing magic over the raw skin on Sara's wrists, and every pass leaves Sara shivering.

"How did it happen?" Dee asks. 

It takes Sara a moment to remember what they were talking about. "There's a corner of the courtyard I like to slip away to. I can almost pretend I'm not being guarded there. Sir Garland used to be generous about keeping his distance and allowing me the illusion, before he... changed." The word isn't strong enough, but Sara doesn't know any that would be. "He grabbed me when no one was near enough to stop him. Once he had his sword to my throat, no one dared try."

Dee nods, then kneels and pushes up Sara's dress to get at her ankles. Sara's mind drifts until Dee says, "They'll guard you like the crown jewels after this, I expect."

The shudder that seizes Sara has nothing to do with the hand cradling her calf. Her future narrows before her, small and safe and suffocating. She'll chisel out a measure of freedom again someday, but in the meantime will be months of constant vigilance, a knight always at her back and a handmaid always at her side. She won't be able to set foot in the garden without an entourage trampling the flowers. Every bump in the night will be Garland's ghost.

Dee looks up with concern as she changes ankles. "Did I say something wrong?"

Sara takes a deep breath to steady herself. "No, I—here, let me..." Words aren't working, so Sara abandons them to lick her thumb and rub at the dried blood on Dee's cheek. Her racing pulse makes her clumsy.

A bemused look flits briefly over Dee's face. "Sorry, I must look grisly. Didn't mean to remind you of it."

"I watched you kill him," Sara points out, voice shaking only a little. Her hand remains on Dee's face, sliding down toward her jaw. "You saved me, and I'm grateful that you did. Don't apologize."

The future is small but the present is exploding like a lightning spell in a tunnel. Sara wants to do something reckless and probably mad, and while she's good at not doing what she wants, she's also quite sick of it.

She cups Dee's face in both her hands and kisses her.

At first she thinks she's made a mistake—Dee is rigidly unresponsive, and Sara is making up kissing as she goes along—but then Dee's hand curls around Sara's leg, Dee's mouth comes alive, and Sara is relieved to cede control. Inside she's falling free, too fast for the future to catch her. The tingling heat on her lips pulses deep down into her belly; for every flicker of satisfaction, she craves a dozen more.

Sara has no sense of how long it lasts, except that it isn't long enough. Dee pulls away with swollen lips and a contented little quirk of a smile, and says, "You're welcome."

It isn't enough, but no one can take it from her.


End file.
